To Hear Hearts Speak
by Scribbler
Summary: Prom is supposed to be the best night of your life. Yuugi/Anzu, plus minor Anzu/Atem and Jounouchi/Mai.


**Disclaimer****: **Loftily not mine.

**A/N****: **Written for 'Challenge #003 – Love' over at YGO Drabble on LiveJournal (community (dot) livejournal (dot) com (slash) ygodrabble). This is the first community I've ever moderated and everybody who has participated in these challenges so far is lovely. Come and join in too! We're low pressure and it's lots of fun.

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_**To Hear Hearts Speak**_

© Scribbler, June 2010.

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To watch us dance is to hear our hearts speak.

- Hopi Indian Saying.

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Prom is supposed to be the best night of your life. You've been planning yours since you saw _Pretty in Pink_ when you were ten. You didn't realise the 80s were _so_ over and wanted to be Molly Ringwald until you watched _Ten Things I Hate About You_ and wanted to be a Stratford sister instead.

You make it a theme whenever it's your turn to pick during Friday Movie Night. In the weeks before prom you rent _Never Been Kissed, She's All That _and even _Napoleon Dynamite_, ignoring all protests. You love how people stick up for each other in these movies, ensuring the night is special, and how ugly girls become princesses during the slow dance. You get caught up in the grandeur, join the planning committee and have an entire ring-binder devoted to just decorations.

Two Fridays before, it's Jounouchi's turn to pick. He chooses _Carrie_. You've never seen it and don't realise what he's up to until too late. You don't forgive him afterwards.

You make him go dress shopping as penance. You wish you had a proper female friend to go with, but that makes you think of Mai, which is depressing because you still don't know where she is. Jounouchi looks so dejected as the day wears on, you _almost_ ask him to be your date. Thankfully, you stop yourself in time. Knowing you'd asked out of pity would hurt even more than being unable to ask the girl he really wants. You grasp _Carrie_ wasn't just petty revenge against you, and buy him a sundae, ostensibly for carrying your bags. His expression says he knows it's more than that.

Yuugi asks you, as you kind of knew he would. You manage to act cool, you think. You don't let your disappointment show, at least. It's okay he's not the pharaoh. You're not making do just because they look alike. You tell yourself you're happy, smiling like you do in dance shows, when the back of the auditorium needs to see it, but part of you wonders whether Yuugi will have to stand on a box for the photograph.

Prom night itself is chilly. You're glad you opted for a shawl to complement your dress – purple silk that shows off your dancer's body, clinging to your curves like a European sports car. You feel elegant and adult wearing it. Tutus are great onstage, but offstage you _do_ feel like a duck that sat on a pie crust. Yuugi boggles when he sees, but Yuugi would think you look good in a garbage bag. A _full_ garbage bag.

Honda and Jounouchi wave from the car. They've decided to go stag, which is probably best. They couldn't afford a limo, but Otogi sent one anyway, with the message that just because he's overseas and can't attend doesn't mean you guys shouldn't have a rip-roaring good time. Honda questions whether anyone can say 'rip-roaring good time' without sounding camper than a field of tents. Both he and Jounouchi decide no.

Surprisingly, they're grabbed for dances the moment they arrive. You barely see them again all evening. They don't even have time to spike the punch. Your carefully chosen Punchbowl Guards remain at their posts and nod as you go past. Everything looks wonderful, like you planned. Even the balloons are extra shiny.

Bakura wades his way through the buffet table while his six dates argue who has legitimacy, since he never actually agreed to any invitation and they all just assumed they were his one and only. You suppress a laugh and soak up the atmosphere. It's just as you imagined, if not quite as magical. A traitorous part of you wonders whether the pharaoh would have said yes if you'd asked him. That would have made this truly perfect.

Then you catch sight of a girl on her own on the fringe of the crowd. Everyone around her points and sniggers behind their hands, the way you shouldn't at prom. Your hackles rise. You've crossed the first few feet to do battle on her behalf when someone overtakes you. You startle when you realise who it is.

Yuugi seems even shorter next to her than with you, which is ridiculous since she's sitting and he's standing. He holds out his hand regardless. She hesitates, but not for long. Everyone knows Yuugi. Everyone knows he wouldn't be spiteful or cruel. He pushes her wheelchair onto the dance-floor and spins her around to _Footloose_. She laughs, throwing back her head until her chignon unfastens.

You watch, and something also unfastens inside you. You have the sudden sensation of looking at a boy you've known for years but seeing someone different – like when you first looked at him but saw the pharaoh. Only this time you're looking at Yuugi and really seeing Yuugi. The prom still glitters. You're still wearing the perfect dress. Yet suddenly the pageantry is immaterial.

Yuugi isn't the pharaoh. He isn't stylish or suave. His tux swamps him. When he dances, he looks like he just had a run in with a power line. And he _does_ need a box for the photo.

But _he_ asked _you_, and you _do_ feel like a princess when the slow music starts and you cross the floor.

"Hey, Yuugi, may I have this dance?"

His smile lights up the room more than your perfectly chosen glitter ball. "Sure, Anzu. I'd love to dance with you."

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**_Fin._**

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